


Better Than

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about relationships, America had discovered recently, was that they required work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than

Title: Better Than  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: America/England  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

The thing about relationships, America had discovered recently, was that they required work. Development occurred slowly, almost painstakingly so. For some reason or another, England was still hesitant for them to become intimate with each other. He shied away whenever America attempted to broach the subject of sex, always insisting that he needed more time to prepare himself.

America had tried to be patient. He’d tried to understand. He knew how badly he’d once hurt England, and that England was learning how to trust and open up to him again.

It wasn’t easy. America tried to tell himself that the rewards would soon be worth the sacrifices he’d made, but he couldn’t help getting frustrated occasionally. It was tiring having to be so considerate. He wasn’t the type to be careful about what he said and did. Exercising restraint just didn’t come naturally to him.

Sometimes he could forget how much stress he’d put himself under whenever England gave him one of those rare unguarded smiles. He could forget all the effort he’d gone through and simply appreciate England feeling comfortable enough to kiss him.

America lived for those kisses. Tragically, they were few and far between, as England was so easily spooked. Kissing was great and enjoyable, but America wanted more. England wasn’t ready. It was beginning to make America wonder if they would ever end up sleeping together. What little they currently had just wasn’t enough for him. It had been over a year and a half already since their relationship had changed from platonic to romantic. How much more time did England need, exactly? Five years? A whole decade? America hoped not. A wait that long would probably turn him insane.

Eventually he decided to go on the initiative. One of them had to, because England didn’t appear to be in much of a hurry. America had to find the reason behind England’s hesitance. There was no way he could be *that* shy, not unless...

He had to do it. He had to confirm his suspicions.

America almost found himself changing his mind when he went to visit England in his office. England’s frown vanished immediately once he saw America, a small, welcoming smile taking its place. It made America’s heart flutter in his chest to see how happy his presence alone could make England feel, but he couldn’t allow himself to be sidetracked.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” he began. “I want you to answer me honestly. It’s not meant to cause offence or upset you. It’s just something I want to know.”

“All right,” England said. “What is it?”

The most effective method of finding out the truth was to be as direct as possible, so America went straight to the point. “Are you a virgin?”

England flushed indignantly. “How rude! Of course I’m not a virgin. Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Well, lots of things,” America replied, “the main one being that we’ve been going out for nearly two years and we haven’t had sex yet.”

“I need time,” England said evasively.

“You’re always saying that! Why do you need so much of it?”

England changed tactics, taking on a soothing tone when he next spoke. “Don’t be like that. Haven’t we done enough arguing in the past? I thought we weren’t going to fight each other anymore.”

“Oh no,” America said. “I won’t get distracted. It’s a simple question. *Have* you ever slept with anyone before?”

“How old do you think I am? Do you really believe it’s possible for me to have remained pure as the driven snow after all these centuries?”

“But you’re so *virginal*. All we ever do is kiss. You never let me get my hands below the belt!”

England looked away, his expression awkward. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t realise how strongly you felt about this.”

“No, it’s okay,” America said, feeling guilty. “I don’t want to rush you. It’s just... y’know?”

England nodded. “You’re different from everyone else. That’s why I wanted it to be special.”

“Oh.” Now America understood. “It’s your first time. It has to be memorable for all the right reasons.”

“No,” England said slowly, “it’s not the first. Haven’t I told you that?”

“Sure. I get it.” America winked. England was obviously lying to save face. America supposed he couldn’t blame him. He had to be embarrassed.

Besides, America had secrets of his own. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was actually a bit of a sap. He wanted it to be special too. More than that, he wanted it to be good. No wonder England had been so reluctant. He must have thought about it a lot if he made him this anxious.

America had to do this properly. There would be no more holding back. This time he would go all out. He knew how old-fashioned England could be about some things. America would show him that he did, in fact, have a gentlemanly side.

“Hey, are you doing anything tonight? Let’s go out on a date.”

“A date?”

“Yes, a date,” America said firmly. “I’m going to take you to dinner. Afterwards we’re going to have a stroll under the moonlight. How does that sound?”

England smiled in appreciation. “It sounds lovely. And usually refined, coming from someone like you.”

America grinned back at him. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can do this etiquette thing. You taught me well, didn’t you? I actually remember most of it, how to dress formally, how to dance and stuff.”

Assuming the evening went well, America would be the one to teach England a thing or two afterwards, such as how to please a partner, and that was just for starters.

“All right,” England conceded. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Yeah,” America said sincerely. “So will I.”

~~

That afternoon, he picked out a fancy restaurant for them to dine at (though he had been forced to beg and bribe in order to get a table at such short notice). America almost wished he’d planned his seduction properly in advance, because at least then he wouldn’t have spent the rest of the afternoon running around frantically in the hope that his best suit would be dry cleaned before he went to pick England up.

Thankfully, he pulled it off. Suit and reservations taken care of, all that was left for him to do before heading back to England’s house was buy him some flowers. England loved flowers. He had a garden full of them, but America could only hope he wouldn’t criticise the shop bought ones by getting insulted and saying that the ones he grew were far superior.

Still, it was the thought that counted. England certainly looked pleased and flattered when America offered him the roses he’d purchased earlier. All in all, the evening had gotten off to a great start.

Dinner was excellent. The conversation flowed smoothly thanks to one JK Rowling. America made a mental note to thank her profusely for writing books that were so easy to read and talk about. He would never have been able to hold an in depth discussion on, say, Shakespeare or Tolkien, especially as England would hardly have been impressed by America calling them long-winded and boring (which they were, in his opinion, but England refused to hear a bad word against them).

Now that America thought about it, most British literature (the famous stuff, at least) was all about magic and mystical creatures. It was like a national obsession or something.

An argument flared up briefly between them when America stated that movie versions were more enjoyable than the books they were based on, to which England responded as if America had just blasphemed by maintaining the original source material was best.

“Come on,” America teased. “We take your books and make them better. Just look at The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, for example. Disney did an awesome job of turning that into a movie.”

“The 1988 BBC adaptation was better by far,” England countered. “Even so, the book was still better. You should read the rest of the series, you know. There’s a hidden depth and theme behind them. CS Lewis supposedly based them on the planets.”

It was actually kind of fun, America thought, being able to talk like this. Better still was watching England getting so animated over the things he was passionate about. America could almost ignore the way England never failed to miss an opportunity to criticise his movies. (America knew he didn’t hate all of them, and that he secretly liked Titanic, no matter how often he called it a load of “wish-washy old bollocks”.)

Things calmed down when they went for their stroll, with America pointing out the constellations as they walked.

“You’ve always loved your stars,” England remarked, his tone affectionate.

“Of course!” America agreed, enthusiastically. “Space travel is beyond awesome. I’m going to explore the lot of it, someday. We can’t be satisfied with just the moon and Mars. We have to learn everything there is to know about everything! It would be insulting otherwise!”

“I’m glad,” said England, his voice so soft America barely heard it. “I’m glad there’s something that can make you this happy.”

“Hey,” America took England’s left hand and squeezed it between both of his. “You’re coming with me, right? We’ll go together. The universe is waiting for us!”

England gave him an indulgent smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Technology hasn’t advanced that far yet. In any case, you know how bad I am with flying. I can’t even handle airplanes.”

“Well, yeah,” America agreed. “You’ve always been a seafarer. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. I’ll show you all those stars somehow, no matter how long it takes.”

Despite the fairies and fantasy novels, England had always been the more pragmatic one. America was the dreamer, the one with all the wild hopes and ambitions.

Maybe that was why England allowed him to hold his hand as they walked back home together, when usually he didn’t take well to America being so tactile in public. Maybe that was why England allowed America to take him into his arms and kiss him once they were behind closed doors.

Whatever the reason, America wasn’t about to complain. England was more confident and compliant than America had ever known him to be. He even permitted America to take him to bed for the first time since they’d embarked upon this new relationship. It was, America told himself, going to be the perfect end to a perfect date.

Or so he thought.

He soon realised that something was wrong. For someone who had never been intimate with anyone before, England was suspiciously skilled. There was only so much he could have picked up from the pornography he steadfastly denied owning. It just wasn’t possible to learn the things that he knew by reading books and watching videos.

America wanted to comment on it, but couldn’t. Coherent thought left him as soon as he and England had gotten naked. His mind had shut down altogether when England set about giving him the most incredible blow job he’d ever experienced, apparently intent on sucking America’s brains out through his cock. America wanted to ask how the hell England was so unbelievably good at this (innate talent could only carry a person so far) but the only words he could manage (when he wasn’t busy moaning and panting) were “fuck”, “Jesus” and “England.”

Afterwards he was helpless to do anything other than lie there, drained and sated, but England wasn’t about to let him off that easily. America didn’t think he’d seen anything as hot in his life as when England began to touch himself.

Where had all that shyness gone? America wondered. It wasn’t like England to be this brazen, but there he was, stroking his cock as he played to his audience.

America found himself getting hard all over again at what England did next. He took out the lubricant America had brought with him (the one thing he had been able to procure easily on short notice, other than the flowers) and prepared himself with it, bracing himself on his knees above America’s hips and reaching behind to finger himself.

America thought he just might die at that, but England hadn’t finished yet. He positioned himself over America’s cock before sliding down onto it, taking it in inch by inch.

“*Fuck*,” America breathed, awed. “Oh God, England...”

England started riding him, slowly at first, then harder and with increasing desperation. America had been wrong before. *This* was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Nothing could have prepared him for it. America loathed himself a little for being so masochistic, but he had to get the gory details afterwards.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded as soon as he was able to speak again. “I thought you were supposed to be a virgin!”

“I never said I was,” England protested, already halfway towards sleep. “You’re the one who kept pushing it.”

“But... but...” America pressed on. “I thought you were lying because you were so embarrassed! I figured you were doing your hot-and-cold routine, your ‘hostile on the outside, affectionate underneath’ thing. I never thought for a second you were telling the truth.”

“Well, I was.” England rolled over. “Good night.”

“Hold on!” America shook his arm to keep him awake and talking. “You can’t just fall asleep! If I’m not your first, then who was?”

“We shouldn’t discuss this here,” England said. “It’s not appropriate.”

“Trust me,” America said firmly, “I want to know.”

England paused for a moment before turning over to face America. “Fine. France was my first. I was young, and he was persuasive. That’s all there is to it.”

America could sort of accept that. And anyway, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. France and England’s twisted love-hate relationship (with the emphasis more on hate than love) had lasted centuries, after all. “But that was a long time ago, right?”

“Right. Prussia was also a long time ago.”

“Wait, what? There’s more?”

“We were old drinking buddies. You know I can’t hold my alcohol. I’m more susceptible to people’s advances when I’m drunk. Besides, he was a cocky bastard. I wanted to show him that he wasn’t as amazing at sex as he thought he was. Oddly enough, I was wrong.”

America’s right eyebrow twitched. “But they were probably just taking advantage of you, France and Prussia both. And anyway, Prussia isn’t even a nation anymore. There’s nothing amazing about him.”

“Like I said, it was a long time ago.” England paused. “Hong Kong was fairly recent, though. And Australia. Japan was over a century ago when we formed our alliance. A while before that, it was Canada.”

“*Canada*? My baby brother had you before I could?”

“He certainly wasn’t a baby at the time.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” America reminded himself to have a very stern talk with his sibling once he returned home. “Is that it? Or does the list get longer?”

“That’s everyone.” England sighed. “I warned you this wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“You weren’t kidding! Now I’m totally disillusioned!”

England pushed himself up and leaned against him, resting a chin on America’s shoulder. “I meant what I said before, about it being different with you. I also meant what I said about wanting it to be special.”

“It’s not special,” America sulked. “How can it be when I’m only another notch on your bedpost?”

England sounded offended. “I thought this was what you wanted? That you were fed up of waiting for me to get a move on and sleep with you?”

“Well, yeah but... no but... Ugh, I don’t even know anymore!” America raked a hand through his hair in agitation. “I didn’t expect you to be so *experienced*. I was the one who was supposed to teach you all this stuff! It’s not fair. It also makes me jealous. You still keep in touch with those guys, don’t you? It’s not like I can keep you all to myself, all of the time.”

“You need to let people have their freedom,” England said gently. “All the more so if you love them. I had to find that out the hard way.”

It really wasn’t fair, America thought miserably. He wasn’t used to England being so honest. Or so reasonable. Or so mature. It made him feel like some clumsy kid in comparison.

“Did you ever love any of those others?” he asked.

England stared straight at him. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you. The way I still love you.” Then he looked away, uncertain. “Even though you’re an idiot sometimes. And you give out mixed signals. And you’re...” He trailed off. “Anyway, don’t make me say it again.”

“That you love me?” America said. “Do you honestly hate saying it that much? Because I love you. I really do.”

England blushed. “Of course I don’t hate saying it. I could never hate saying it. I could never hate *you*. You hurt me. I’d be lying if I said you didn’t. But I probably hurt you too, whether I was conscious of it or not. You wouldn’t have fought for your independence otherwise.”

“I thought being in love was supposed to be easy,” America confessed, “that it’s supposed to be wonderful and beautiful. It shouldn’t have to be this hard.”

“It shouldn’t,” England agreed, “but then it wouldn’t be true love if it wasn’t.”

And this, America realised, was the reason why he could be such a sap. It was why he cried over movies like Bambi and The Incredible Journey. He invested himself so much emotionally in the silliest little things, not that he would ever let England know it.

In a way, it was kind of his fault. He should have noticed his feelings for England sooner, then there would have been no need for him to sleep with anyone else.

“Well,” he said. “I guess I can forgive you, but only as long as the sex keeps being awesome. We can figure out the rest as we go along. By the way, I’m the best you’ve ever had, right? Right?”

“Of course,” England said.

“And even if you’re lying, we’ll do it again and again until I really am better than all the rest.”

 

End.


End file.
